A Day Like None Other
by Merlyn
Summary: A Reyer piece of fiction!!! It's basically the Phantom of the Opera, but from M. Reyer's POV!


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A Day Like None Other

Introduction

My day would always start out the same. Everyday for the past fifteen years I have gone to the Palais Garnier; gone there early to prepare the day's rehearsal. Whilst the cast, staff and managers (and possibly the mysterious O.G) were all snug and warm in their beds I, Xavier Reyer, was out preparing the day's work. Work to keep the divas, ballet dancers, and managers in profit for yet another performance. All the thanks I got for this was a hefty pay packet, a brief mention in the programme and a splitting headache! However, from the moment I got out of bed and tried to put odd shoes on my feet, I knew that today would be quite unlike _any _other.

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Chapter One

Upon my arrival in the main auditorium, at my customary hour of a quarter past seven in the morning, my ears were met with the most wonderful, sweet and sorrowful notes one could ever care to imagine. Accompanying these notes was a voice like none other. It was a male voice, a tenor, yet it was more beautiful than any tenor, counter tenor or soprano that ever graced this Earth. 

Wishing to hear more, I tried to close the door softly behind me; but, thanks to one of the many drafts that frequented this old but beautiful building, a blast of cold air caught the door and slammed it hard against its old wooden frame. Immediately the singing and the music stopped. The singer cursed violently, and I found myself shocked at this sudden outburst of language! However, I was able to forgive him instantly, remembering that he did not know I was there and I must have frightened the poor fellow. I brushed aside the curse and called:

"Hello?"

Silence.

"I did not mean to frighten you. Please." I set my bag down on a seat and continued to walk towards the stage, in a careful measured step. 

Silence.

"Look, I really did not mean to alarm you." I paused. "Your singing was…it was…" I could not think of a word to describe it, simply because words could not describe it! "Well, words do not describe it… it was more than beautiful."

"Thank you." I jumped in surprise, and then searched the darkness with my eyes to try and locate the speaker. The voice was gentle, but yet, it had the command and dexterity of royalty, or perhaps someone with immense power. Nevertheless, it meant the voice was not someone to be crossed.

"You're most welcome." I replied curtly. "Who are you?"

Silence.

"I am sorry, did my question offend you, monsieur?"

"No." this time the voice did not come from the stage, but behind me. I spun round, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I felt panic rising within me. 

"Who are you?" I asked again, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

"I am no one of importance." The voice's tone was final and I did not press for further details on the singer's identity. 

"What were you singing? I am not quite sure if I have heard it before."

"It was of my own composition."

"Your own? My, it was quite some work, my friend." I allowed myself a chuckle. 

"Quite, and now I must leave you."

"No! Please, stay." I called out. "I would very much like to meet y…." a soft chuckle from my left made me stop mid-sentence. 

"No, I do not think so."

"But why?"

"Because, my dear M. Reyer, this is all some insane dream."

"A dream?"

"Oui," I could see a man in dress clothes walking towards me, his footsteps quiet upon the carpeted floor. He was unbelievably thin, and his clothes hung off his body. This thin, gaunt figure stood a little over six feet. What, however, set his appearance apart from all the other gentlemen in dress clothes that frequent the Opera was that his face was hidden behind a white porcelain mask. The mask only covered half his face. 

"And sadly," he continued, walking towards me, "this nice dream is about to turn into a nightmare!" His left hand swiftly pulled away the mask that covered the right side of his face. I was suddenly faced with the most grotesque and terrifying sight. The right side of his face was torn and ragged, as though wax had melted, set and then someone had hacked away at it with a twisted hammer. He continued to approach me, his eyes burned burning yellow sunken deep in a dead man's sockets. His right eye was dull and grey, and this combined with the brilliant yellow of the left gave the most fearful impression. 

The world around me went black, and I felt like I was falling; falling back into pitch darkness. My limbs became unbearably heavy, but yet my body was limp. A cruel maniacal laugh pierced the darkness… 

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A/N: Thanks to Allison for proof reading this! Thank you so much!


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